Cry Wolf
by Soulmate Ficwriter
Summary: Jasper needs something. He needs Edward. He just doesn't know it, yet. Sparks fly when he reconnects with the boy from his past. Only, Edward isn't a just a boy, anymore. He's all grown up and sexy as hell, and the key to Jasper's chance at true happiness. But will Jasper follow his heart for once, or will he Cry Wolf?
1. Chapter 1

**I began the first chapter of this story a few years ago. The song 'Moves Like Jagger' by Maroon 5 inspired it. But I don't have much time to write and didn't want to start another fic, until a few days ago when I heard 'Just Dance' by Lady Gaga and the need to write this fic came rushing back. The scene between Edward and Jasper from the end of ch.1 through ch.2 wouldn't leave me alone.**

 **I am also continuing to work on Sometimes. And I'll eventually try to finish up my short fics. For now, this story owns me, as do my Sometimes boys. I hope you guys like it.**

 **The theme songs for this fic are 'Sugar' and 'Moves Like Jagger' by Maroon 5, and 'Not a Bad Thing' by Justin Timberlake.**

 **Can't wait for you to meet these two… mostly Jasper this first chapter, but the second chapter will be up in the next few days.**

 **Disclaimer - I don't own anything Twilight. This is Slash.**

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 **Cry Wolf –**

 **ch. 1 – Baa Baa Black Sheep**

 **Jpov - (Jasper's songs for now… Come Undone by My Darkest Days, Use Somebody by Kings of Leon, and Stop and Stare by OneRepublic)**

 **Jpov**

It feels like a lifetime since I last felt another's touch - since I've experienced physical contact besides the squeeze of my own calloused hand. In reality, it's barely been five months, but that's far too fucking long in my book. The last time I got laid was before my last project began, and I haven't had so much as a quickie in the back room of a club since. That last experience did me in. For some reason, when I awoke alone in my bed yet again, something inside of me snapped. I decided I couldn't do it anymore. I wouldn't.

I'd picked up a pretty little blond the night before, one of which I actually felt an inkling of a connection with for a change. Apparently, he didn't feel one with me - besides of the physical sort, of course. It hurt like hell in the light of day when he was gone as if he'd never been in my bed to begin with - more than it had the time before, which was more than the time before that.

What should I expect, moving from city to city like I do? I don't deserve anything more. But one night stands no longer work for me. I don't have room in my life for a relationship, nor do I have the heart, so then why do I need more than nameless many? I don't have the right to want more, let alone to need more, but I do.

After much time spent contemplating how to compromise what I want and what I need with a plausible solution, I've come to a conclusion on the subject. I've decided I need a fuck-buddy. Maybe, just maybe, a friend-with-benefits will quell this annoying yearning for consistency that taunts me so. From deep within my psyche, or maybe from somewhere inside my skittish heart – the unwanted longing for the ridiculous 'more' rears its ugly head. Wherever the little fucker comes from, it won't shut-up. So… a no strings attached 'one' someone to spend repeated times with will have to do since I'm most definitively not boyfriend material. I wasn't then and I'm not now. I may never be.

I'm aware of the draw backs of this detached intimacy I seek. Quite frankly, such an arrangement scares the hell out of me. For instance, it will be necessary to reach a level of trust with this someone by becoming friends first, before the friends-with-benefits relationship can take form. I'll have to place faith in this person to not use me and leave me. I'll need to actually date him, whoever he is – get to know him well enough to establish some ground rules. And once we finally get to the good stuff - the fucking, the regularly scheduled fucking – I will never, under any circumstances, allow my special friend to spend the night. No drifting off into sweet slumber with a warm body next to mine. And most certainly, never ever, can I allow cuddling or pillow talk to occur after he's spent and I'm spent because the fucking his brains out is over. No, no – nuh, uh. And last but certainly not least, if whoever 'he' may be leaves when I'm done with his body never to be heard from again, despite my efforts to prevent it? Well then, I will not allow myself to feel rejected, nor dejected.

I won't allow myself to feel. Anything. Period.

I'm scared. I had a similar arrangement once, and it didn't end well. I did not end it well. I was young and stupid and terrified. I've matured since then. I think I'm ready to try again. I know better what to do. What not to do. Not to get attached. Not to get involved. And definitely not to allow myself to fall in love.

San Francisco seems like the perfect location to find the un-relationship I seek. I'll be here for the next six months, atleast. My newest project will take that long, if not longer. Atlanta was nice, real nice; as were Kansas City and Jacksonville and Cleveland before that. The list goes on and on. Fifteen cities in the six years since I left home, when I inadvertently started my building restoration company. I stumbled into it, really.

Who knew hard work and attention to detail mixed in with a good dose of natural born talent would pay off so well. That it would lead me to where I am now, the co-owner of a lucrative business at the ripe old age of twenty-four. My partner is none other than my Uncle Aro, the black sheep of the family. He buys old buildings, I restore them, and we split the profit. It's worked perfectly so far, and it's kept me on the road, where I want to be. It's also led me to follow in Uncle Aro's footsteps in the black sheep department. I'm no longer my parents dream come true, but instead their disappointment of a son who decided to be gay, and to leave town, to never come back. I damned near took Uncle Aro's place as the head black sheep as far as my parents are concerned. Ah, hell… I never wanted to be a black sheep. I don't even like animals, especially of the farm variety. I just want to live my life free to be me. If I want to fuck pretty boys or burly men without shame or consequence, I will do so with pride and conviction.

Thank god I stay so busy all the time.

Too busy to think about the confused boy I used to be or the lonely man I've become.

I left Forks the day I graduated from high school and haven't looked back. I've lost touch with everyone from my previous life - my parents, my best friend, my first love – though I didn't know Alec was my first love at the time. Or maybe I did, but just couldn't admit it.

My best friend Emmett and I were inseparable growing up. But he didn't take too well to the truth, once he stumbled upon it. I hadn't worked up the nerve to tell him; I hid it from him like I hid it from everyone else. Unfortunately, it dawned on him in a too bright and blinding sort of way when he found me and Alec in the old tree house. His tree house, really… seeing as it was on Em's property. But it had been ours, his and mine, when we were kids. We'd visited it less and less over the years, and I was desperate for a place to take Alec that night. I'd used it before, but I should have known better. Emmett found us. And all of a sudden as far as he was concerned his best friend whom he'd bunked with at summer camp, shared a locker room with through the years of football, and stayed over at one another's houses more often than not - was gay. Only, gay wasn't the term he used as he yelled and cussed me out that night. No, gay wasn't what he called me. I wouldn't have minded 'gay' - I mean, it was the truth. But I couldn't forgive the terms he did use, the slurs he spit at me and Alec with contempt and fury in his eyes. My worst nightmare come true.

I'd lied to him for years and the fact that I was gay disgusted him. I've not talked to him since I stood tall and proud against his judging glare. I pulled my jeans up with my head held high and waited for Alec to do the same. We descended the ladder without looking back. I took Alec home and told him I'd see him at graduation. Though my heart hurt from the depth of Emmett's rejection, I simultaneously felt relieved. My secret was out. Maybe I could finally begin living my life. Maybe I could start being myself.

I imagined approaching Alec at graduation the next day, and for once, not hiding the effect he always had on me - not avoiding him in public for fear others would see the truth about us. Only, I never made it to graduation. When I got home, Emmet had been there and told my parents of his discovery. They didn't take the news about my sexual preference much better than Em did. So, instead of attending graduation, I left town. My heart was breaking and I was simultaneously seeing red. Still, it wasn't my finest moment, for sure. I should have stayed and worked things out with them, but I knew how my father had always felt about his brother's, Uncle Aro's, life style. Things could never be the same between my parents and myself, and that pissed me off. Who were they to judge me? The fact that I'm attracted to boys instead of girls did not change anything. I was still their son, the same son I'd always been. They should've stuck up for me. Instead, they waited for me to arrive home with accusing glares and disappointed words.

Forks is but a memory. Emmett and my parents and Alec are, too. It's how it has to be.

San Francisco suits me for more than just the obvious reason. This city is alive with hope and tranquility. It gets me and I get it. I'd even go so far as to call it my home, considering it's where Volturi Real Estate is located, and for the time being, Whitlock Renovations is, too. I visit here often, but usually only take jobs across the country, in far off distant lands, as far away from that little town in Washington as possible. Aro understands. He's gone along with my need to move around and stay away. Until recently, when he talked me into our newest project, more like begged me to stay in town until its completion. We'll transform an old warehouse into a museum. It's our biggest project to date and will require me to stay in one place longer than I have since commencing my wandering life.

Uncle Aro won't admit it, but I know his true motive. He simply wants me around. I'm his only family who actually talks to him. He's getting older and he needs me, his nephew, in his life on a daily basis. He's done so much for me, it's the least I can do. But when this job is done, I'll hit the road, again.

I've rented an apartment in the heart of the city. Bunking with Uncle Aro won't do for an extended stay such as this, even though he has an amazing 5,000 square foot townhouse. I need to be able to walk around naked and bed down my new friend whenever and however I choose. And the compromising situations I've discovered my uncle in on occasion…? Um, yeah. Let's just say it's something I don't think I can deal with on a daily basis. Who knew he'd be such a power bottom! Good god!

Fully furnished in modern hues of light grey, charcoal, and white, my apartment offers an abundant array of surfaces to fuck on. And I can't wait to try every one. This is the longest I've gone without laying some serious pipe since I was sixteen years old. And that's saying allot considering I had to sneak around in high school. There were a couple other gay boys at my school and I had a knack for sniffing them out. Somehow, I made it through junior and senior year, flying under the radar as the captain of the football team, with a girl on my arm every now and again for show. But I never so much as kissed any of the girls I dated. Instead, I fucked Riley, a drummer in the marching band, every few weeks. By senior year I was hooking up with Alec, the pitcher of the baseball team. Though, he never pitched when we were alone. He was my perfect catcher; his body seemed specially made to receive mine just right. We taught one another so many things, and no one ever suspected, until we slipped up the night before graduation when Emmett discovered us.

It's taken me years to admit it, but I've finally come to accept that I loved Alec. He was such a sweet kid. We were young and confused - just trying to figure out our sexuality while hiding our true selves from everyone else but each other. And I was a jerk. I kept him at arm's length, and continued to fuck Riley on occasion, to keep my feelings for Alec in check. I see that now.

Riley was an asshole. He insisted I do the catching when we fucked, so I did, though to this day I don't enjoy it nearly as much as topping. I took everything Riley gave, searching him out to fuck me good and hard whenever I felt my feelings for Alec growing too strong, too intense. I couldn't deal with being in love with a boy when there wasn't anything I could really do about it. I couldn't treat him right. I couldn't show him affection or let everyone know he was my boyfriend though it was the natural thing to do. So I sabotaged it from becoming everything it could be. And then I left without a word. God, I was so fucked up.

I still am. I have nightmares of how Alec must've felt after I left town, after I left him. What his face might have looked like while he searched the crowd for me at graduation, and after, when he realized I wasn't coming. We never had a chance to talk about what happened with Emmett. I never told him how much he meant to me. It continues to haunt me if I let it, so I force it down deep into my subconscious. But I can't fight the memories and what ifs when I'm asleep. So I don't sleep well or much. I stay busy and keep my mind occupied with blueprints and designs. I keep myself closed off from others, from emotions for others.

I don't blame my temporary lovers for leaving as quickly as they do. I know they know. From the first intoxicating yet detached taste of my lips, from the way I never look them in the eye while I fuck them to the brink and back again, never… they know. I'm emotionally unavailable, a lost cause.

My last hope is this no-strings-attached though consistent sexual relationship I've become obsessed with finding. And I've decided to start looking, tonight. Sure, I've barely unpacked. Boxes sit in every room of my otherwise spotless loft style apartment. 'Bathroom Essentials', 'Pots and Pans', 'DVDs', etc. - sit awaiting for me to put them in their places. I certainly can't have company yet, but isn't that the point? There won't be a need to entertain my new friend, if I stick with the plan, pick wisely, and get to know this new someone, first.

Dressed in my well-worn dark washed jeans… the ones that hug every muscle in my ass and thighs just right, and a deep blue tight t-shirt which shows of the muscles in my upper body just as well – I saunter up to the bar of my favorite club. My dark-blondish waves are perfectly out of place. I dip my head, encouraging them to fall in my face before looking up at the gorgeous bartender through my thick eyelashes. He's always here. It's been months since my last brief visit to San Francisco, but here he still is now - like he was then.

He visibly gulps when I catch his eye, obviously happy to see me. Smiling brightly, without breaking eye contact, he reaches down into his magic case of beer and then hands me a bud-light. I don't know how he does that, though I'm not surprised he remembers my beer of choice. He seems to know what everyone drinks. The kid must have a photographic memory.

I've been to Atlantis allot, almost every night when visiting Uncle Aro and my favorite city. Aro usually accompanies me, but not tonight. I need to do this alone.

Something has always held me back from pursuing the undeniable attraction I feel for this gorgeous, obviously American Indian bartender who is still staring back at me like I'm a big juicy steak. He's buff and sexy as hell, taller than me, with long midnight hair I'd love nothing else than to grasp in my fist and pull while fucking him from behind.

"Jake, you look amazing, as always."

His eyes glass over and he bites his bottom lip while looking at mine. Maybe he'd be interested in the special arrangement I seek? I'll have to think on that further. I'd hate to turn a harmless flirtation with the bartender of the club I'll be frequenting often into and an awkward situation. Or I could give the poor kid what he so desperately craves… a piece of me. But they all look at me like that, and then leave when I've filled them up. So, no. I won't be fucking Jake tonight, though my dick strongly disagrees.

We chat a little and flirt allot before I push off the bar with a wink.

The boys are already writhing around seductively on the ocean themed dance floor. Varying shades of blue and green glow from above. The image of waves shines from below. It's quite breath-taking. The rest of the club is full of soft curving lines, decorated in aqua and sea green. The sounds of waves and ocean noises can be heard in areas of the club where the loud seductive beats of dance music don't drown them out.

The balcony overlooking the dance floor calls to me as it always does. I love the view from up there; I slowly make my way toward the stairs. The cushy aqua couches are occupied with partying groups of friends here and there, or couples in various states of making-out. My dick likes what I see. I don't attempt to hide the heat I'm packing, drawing blatant stares to my groin as I top the stairs.

 _That's right boys... I'm hung and know how to use it._

I reign myself in, reminding myself of my plan. I don't want to take a stranger home tonight. In actuality, I'd love nothing better than to let loose on one of these sexy boys, but I won't. I'll look, instead, for a different kind of bottom. One who isn't so obviously offering it to the first taker. One who looks as if he'd appreciate a repeated slow burn, instead. The problem is, I don't know what such a boy looks like.

An hour and a number of shots later, I continue to eye fuck a candidate or two, but mostly I just stand here watching the erotic scene below. Most of the boys have taken their shirts off. One group is especially entertaining to watch. I can't for the life of me pinpoint exactly who's with who. Or maybe they'll all leave here together and an orgy will ensue. I certainly hope so.

Then there's that couple on the edge of the dance floor who keeps drawing my attention, and it seriously pisses me off. They've been dancing closely, slowly, and sensually this entire time. Sharing languid kisses. Whispering sweet nothings when they drag their lips from one another. The manner in which they protectively covet the other is especially bothersome. It's as if each one is an invaluable treasure to the other. They only have eyes for each other, hell… they obviously fucking complete each other. It's unnerving, and to be quite honest, utterly inappropriate for this setting. With all the blatant groping and grinding and damn near actual sex almost taking place on the dance floor, this is the couple I want to scream at, "Get a fucking room!"

What the hell? I don't need to see that shit.

It's… it's… it's fucking beautiful. They are. And I want what they have. I most certainly did not come here to be reminded of what I want but can't have.

Alcohol makes me irrational. I know this. And I'm quickly making my way towards drunk. I should stop myself from asking the offending couple to leave, but I don't know if I can keep from doing exactly that.

I just might, until I notice a gorgeous creature in the middle of the dance floor. He wasn't there a minute ago, but he sure as hell is now.

I can't see his face, but damn, the boy knows how to move. Out there by himself, he seems completely overcome by the music, swaying his hips to the beat as if it resonates from within his body. I've never seen him here before, but there's something about him that seems familiar. All I can think about is my unexplainable, irrational need to get closer to him. I feel drawn to him, as if the universe is pushing me, pulling me to close the distance between us. I can't explain it, but I can't shake an unfamiliar feeling spreading through me, taking root somewhere deep inside… that the beautiful boy down there, dancing alone and free – will change my life. Everything about my life is about to change.

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 **Please pretty please review and let me know what you think? Any ideas as to who the mysterious dancing stranger is, or how Jasper might already know him?  
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 **Ch.2 up tonight, hopefully. And the next chapter of Sometimes soon after that.**


	2. Pour Some Down on Me

**Are you ready to meet the dancing boy who has captured Jasper's undivided attention?**

 **I just want to say thank you for all the favorites and alerts on this, my newest story! And to those of you who reviewed… thank you so much for the feedback. It's so good to know you're out there reading the scenarios my mind dreams up for Jasper and Edward. Just can't get them out of my mind. Don't think I ever will. My love for them is irrevocable, lol.**

 **Songs for this Chapter – Okay! This is important, lol! First, Just Dance by Lady Gaga was the dance vibe when Jasper was watching the scene from above(ch.1). When he notices and can't look away from a particular sexy stranger, said sexy stranger is dancing to Sexy Back by Justin Timberlake. Then, Sugar by Maroon 5 comes is playing when Jasper… yeah, you'll have to read the chapter to find out what Jasper does. You'll know what I mean, and Sugar by Maroon 5 is the song playing then.**

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 **Chapter 2 – Pour Some Down on Me**

Jpov

I cannot look away. With every move of his body he gives off an air of innocence, while being seductive and alluring at the same time. It's there in the flick of his hips, in his stretched and open arms – freedom and pride. A sinful body that can do sinful things, yet he shares the feel of it with no one, with none of the interested boys around him. They can look, but they can't touch. It's refreshing and provocative. He is. It makes me want him all the more.

He's tall, a head above some of the twinks. One cute thing shimmies up next to him, trying to grind against him - but Sexy shakes his head, politely brushing the nearly a foot-shorter-than-him admirer off. Without missing a beat, he continues his own personal homage to everything sexy and sensual and… fuck, he makes my dick hard. His back is to me, which is fine with me since this angle allows me to watch him shake his ass the way he so decadently does.

His white t-shirt is thin and snug. It hugs the muscles of his back and biceps in a delicious sort of way. He is lean and built, but not too much so – just right. Even with the funky lights shining every which way, now flashing in different colors, his skin barely shows through the white cotton. I want to see his chest and his abdomen through it, too. His nipples must be visible, stretched white material barely hiding them. Are they brown or a deep rosy pink? Fuck! I need to know.

I ghost my hand along my stomach, down… to adjust my hard cock through my jeans. It's uncomfortably heavy and aching due to the sexy creature on the dance floor who has completely captured my attention, to say the least. He owns it. He owns me.

He turns slightly, more towards me, throwing his head back because he's completely over-come by this particular song. My breath catches in my throat… I can almost see his face. I want to, but I realize it doesn't matter to me what his face looks like. Something tells me it's as gorgeous as the rest of him, but in actuality, it truly does not matter. He oozes more sex appeal, more vitality and charisma than anyone I've ever set eyes on. And that's just the back of him. I could honestly care less what the front looks like.

Sexy Back by Justin Timberlake is on and it's perfect. He is… this boy is perfect. He definitely has a sexy back. All of his back side is sexy, and just begging for me to be brushing up against it. I don't usually dance. It's hard for me to relax enough to let go, to not think - but this boy makes me want to dance, for once. With him.

Without making the conscious decision to do so, I find myself descending the stairs to get closer to him. His gorgeous messy head of what looks to be reddish-brown hair sticks about in every direction, above everyone else. I push through the writhing boys, ignore the grasping hands and gyrating bodies attempting to halt my progress. They move as one, where one ends and the next begins is hard to tell, yet I make it through. Anything to get where I need to be. Sensual sounds of grunts and groans are there just below the beat of the music. I ignore them in search of the sexy man who drew me out from my safe spot above. As I near my destination, the crowd seems to thin enough for me to finish my journey to him. I come up behind him, yet to see his face.

I need to feel him.

I need his body against mine.

Right now.

I'm so close, but still too far. My front almost brushes up against his back. Inches, mere inches separate us. The song changes to one of my favorites - Sugar by Maroon 5. There couldn't be a more fitting song for the sexy stranger I'm about to attempt to dance with.

I can't believe I'm about to do this. What the fuck am I thinking? Why? Why him?

But it doesn't matter. Nothing else matters. Not my insecurities. Not the wall I've built up inside of me - the trusty wall that has protected me from anything real, from anything that could really hurt me. I have to do this. I have to force down the questions and blaring alarms going off in my head, screaming at me, warning me this one is different. I won't be able control myself with him. I won't be able to keep myself hidden away, or safe, from him.

But oh-the-hell, well.

And I don't care he's a stranger. He is strange and unexplainable, but he doesn't feel like a stranger.

His scent wafts over me, around me, surrounding me. He smells sweet like sugar and spice and everything nice, and I'm sure as hell in need of some sweetness in my life, specifically whatever kind he has.

I falter just when I think I've mustered the nerve to close the inches between us, wondering if he'll push me away like he has everyone else. I guess I'm about to find out, because I can't be this close to him any longer without feeling him, touching him. As if trying to win the trust of a scared cat, I gently place my hands on his hips. In a low, steady voice, I speak directly into his ear. It tickles my lips as my voice coaxes, "There, there Sugar… Don't fight it, move with me, and I promise you won't regret the feel of my body against yours."

His hips stop moving under the gentle embrace of my fingertips. I think he will refuse me, brush me off like the others, but he does the opposite. He steps back, melding his body with mine, resuming his dancing, and I can't help but let out a guttural groan. I don't mind if he hears the throaty noises he drags from my throat. This beautiful creature needs to know how strongly he affects me.

I let go. I let it all go and move with him, back and forth, side to side. But I crave the feel of his friction, not just his body pressed tightly against mine. I change direction, move against him, stepping the opposite direction his body passes along mine. The resulting feel of the friction we create damn near blows my mind. My dick makes pass after pass across his soft ass. I'm hard, so fucking hard. His ass feels good, too fucking good. Possibly too much for my deprived dick to handle without exploding inside my jeans. I'm usually good with the stamina, a fucking stallion, actually - but when he lays his head back on my shoulder and meets me grind for grind, increasing the pressure his ass dry humps me with – I just know, I know if we keep this up I will cum, right here on the dance floor. I want to do just that, so badly. My body is screaming for it.

But it doesn't feel right.

Not with him.

Not here.

Not yet.

I grasp his waste firmly, and back away a few inches, attempting to regain some semblance of control. He stills with me, in my arms, and we barely sway back and forth to the incessant beat that fills up the room and moves through our bodies. He must know how much he affects me. He seems to understand exactly what I need because he keeps his soft ass at bay for a few minutes, waiting for my signal for him to rub it against me, again.

I loosen my grip on his hips, reaching around, exploring his torso. His stomach feels slim and firm under my fingers, though not too firm - still slightly soft to the touch, but with obvious muscle close below the surface. Perfection. I can't help but tug at his tucked-in t-shirt, to sneak my fingers underneath. He's one of the only boys on the floor who still wears his shirt, and for some reason, it's as sexy as hell.

The skin is hot to the touch… so hot. My fingers barely skim below the waist of his skinny jeans as we pick up our pace. He steps back, his body is firmly against mine, once more. We move together, against one another. His cheek rests against mine now, and damn, he smells so fucking good. The mature smell of cologne mixes with something pure and sweet. Young. He smells young. But he can't be much younger than me. He matches me in height and stature. The man in my arms is strong and virile. Not young…

He allows a complete stranger, myself, to dry fuck him on the dance floor, but something about him puts off an air of class. Naivety, even? Maybe…

He's not spoken a word, but I know he doesn't dance like this with just anyone. Possibly never anyone, except now me. He turns his head toward me; I feel his panting breaths against my cheek. At some point along the way I've closed my eyes. I can't pinpoint when I made the unconscious decision to do so, to savor the other senses bombarding me. I want to see him, I need to - but then again, I don't. There's something about us, our connection. I'm afraid to break it with eye contact. I make a mindful effort to keep my eyes closed… for just a little while longer. Even when he turns in my arms, facing me and laying his head on my shoulder as we continue to sensually dance, I keep them closed.

He begins ghosting his lips along my neck, sending shivers along every nerve ending in my body. I'm putty in this boys hands and I've not even truly seen him, yet. His mouth feels incredible on my heated skin, better than any mouth has ever felt before. The electricity of his touch, from everywhere our bodies are joined, from his long torso wrapped around mine to his lips that have now found their way to my jaw – continues to radiate everywhere, all through me, resonating in my groin. I'm dangerously close to loosing it, again. I've never felt anything like this before.

My arms involuntarily tighten, holding him to me. I get the overwhelming feeling that I should continue to do so, to hold on to this amazing creature in my arms, and never let go. It's imperative that I don't let him go, so I don't. I don't fight his lips on mine, either. Tentative swipes of his tongue plead with me to open up and let him in. I accept his invitation, opening my lips, parting my lips to his softness and warmth - to his wet, delicious tongue.

I feel drugged, high on lust for this stranger. I stop trying to lift my heavy lids and enjoy drowning in our wet kisses, instead. Fuck, he tastes so good.

Our movement settles to a gentle swaying as we both become overcome by the heated kisses we share. I hold him close but don't grope or explore besides my tongue learning his. Nor does he. Our kiss is too intense to steal attention from it. It's sweet, yet decadent. It's familiar in an elusive way, though I've never kissed anyone quite like this. It's personal, though the lips on mine and the tongue sweetly messaging my own are those of a stranger. I'm finally snapped out of my lust induced haze, though it's not only lust these kisses incur. There's so much more there begging to be explored than lust and carnal pleasure.

It's time. I have to see the one who's kisses, who's everything about his short presence in my life makes me remember the things I can't have, and want them more than ever - with him. They almost seem possible.

I find the strength to pull away from his sinful mouth. It's difficult; practically painful to do so, but I do because it's time. What I see won't change how I feel. I want to get to know him better regardless of the color of his eyes or shape of his nose.

When I drag my lids open, I see the top of his head. He's looking down, hiding his face from me. Gently, with one finger under his chin, I lift his face so that I might see the man who has suddenly sent my world off balance.

Sparkling emerald green stares back at me.

He is beautiful.

He is familiar.

Yes… like a younger boy I used to know, only older now. Mature. Handsome as all hell, but it has to be him.

Holy fucking hell!

Images of my childhood's best friend's little brother merge with the sexy man before me.

Eddie. Little Eddie Cullen?

It can't be!

But it is.

I haven't seen him since before Emmett and I had our falling out. Since earlier that day, actually.

He was still just a boy. A skinny little timid thing who tagged along wherever Emmett and I went all those years. And when we wouldn't let him, he pestered us relentlessly.

I can't believe it's him. He's so different and the same, all at once. So I stand here like an idiot, taking him in. Shocked, because he is a man now, no longer the boy I knew.

Even under the strobing blue and green lights, his unique hair color shines through. I knew I'd seen it somewhere before.

His eyes are an equally unique color of green, the same green that used to seem to follow my every move. Freckles scatter across his nose, just barely kissing his cheeks, and I have the overwhelming urge to kiss each and every one of them.

With that thought, I force myself to let Edward go, releasing him from my embrace. I abruptly back away. He stumbles slightly at the sudden loss of my arms around him.

Shit! I'm fucking this up. But I can't help it. I really don't know what to say. Or what to do. Or how to act with him, now.

I stand gaping at him, unable to form words. What do I say to the boy who I once treated as my own little brother? The gangly boy who has grown up and become a gorgeous man? The gorgeous man whose touch made my body sing as it never has before, warming my numb heart in mere minutes?

"Eddie?" I know it's him, yet his name comes out as a question, my brain and my body still unable to catch up with my eyes.

"Jasper." My name sounds sinful slipping past his kiss swollen lips. His velvet voice does nothing to abate the problem I still have going on in my pants. I silently berate my cock for not immediately complying, for not keeping up with the current situation. This is Eddie! I cannot be attracted to him. I will not allow myself to be. It's that simple. It just wouldn't be right.

Yet, my cock strongly disagrees. It still likes what it sees. Maybe even more now that it knows who he is, if that's possible. He's even sexier because of who he is. I cared for him before, I still do, and always will. Maybe that explains the connection I've felt to him since the moment I first set eyes on him?

Eddie chuckles at my loss of words, taking the opportunity to correct me. "It's not Eddie anymore, Jasper. It's Edward… just Edward."

Edward seems to like what he sees, too. He looks me up and down, with a beautiful blush coloring his cheeks, yet with conviction and definite interest.

"It's good to see you Jasper. It's been far too long."

I realize something from the calm tone of his voice… he isn't as surprised to see me as I am to see him? Not surprised at all, actually.

"Eddie… it's good to see you, too. I didn't know it was you. How… why… um…?

His adorable blush deepens and spreads up his face, even reaching the tips of his ears. Everything about him is adorable, and not in a little brother kind-of-way, but in a cherish him, love him, make-love to him, but don't fuck him sort-of-way. Never fuck, but lovingly worship his body kind-of way. Fucking hell! Where did all of that come from?

No.

Just no.

It's not possible.

I can't.

We can't. He's Em's little brother, for Christ's sake!

But I want. I fucking want. I want Eddie… er, Edward. More than I've ever wanted anyone before in my life. What the fuck am I going to do?

Finally he answers my silent question from what seems like so long ago. My mind it going a mile a minute, trying to keep up with each new revolution, its wants and desires. Its unacceptable wants and desires.

"Yes, Jasper. I knew it was you. I've seen you in here, but not for months. I've watched and waited for you to return. Somehow I knew you would. I wouldn't have danced with anyone else like that Jasper. Just so you know… no one but you."

* * *

 **Oh my! Please, pretty please, leave me some love! Did anyone guess how Jasper would already be acquainted with the dancing stranger? Anyone see that coming? What should Jasper do? Eddie is four years younger than Jasper, if you're wondering. He would've been in the eighth grade – still in junior high, age fourteen when Jasper left. A late bloomer… we'll address that more later ;-). (Maybe Jasper should help him continue to bloom.) So he is now almost 21… like really soon. And Jasper is almost 25. Let me know what you think so far. Every review helps me write faster! ;-)**


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